Malediction
by Hoshi-tachi
Summary: When your name itself damns you, where can you turn? Not even to the gods... No pairings, Dark!Harry.
1. Beginnings

**Title:** Malediction  
**Summary:** When your name itself damns you, where can you turn? Not even the gods...  
**Warnings:** General warning for dark situations. Specific warnings will be included with the pertinent chapters.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to the domains of either Harry Potter or Stargate: SG-1.

* * *

The Auror was trembling as he rose to his feet, his wand clenched in bloodless fingers. His eyes never left the crumpled figure on the other side of the dark alley- it looked still, dead, but he'd seen it go down before, seemingly for good, only to rise again a moment later to destroy those who are dared to strike it down. The incantation to one of the most lethal spells he knew was there on the tip of his tongue, ready, as the Auror limped painfully closer.

He closed to within just a few feet, and still there was no movement save for the rise and fall of its breathing. He hadn't killed it, then… the thought provoked a wave inside him that was both relief and terror. A twitch of his wand bound the thing in thick steel chains- they had already learned, at the cost of the lives of half an Auror team, that mere ropes would never hold it.

After a moment's thought, another wave of his wand wrapped it in a second layer of chains. With this one, there was no such thing as being too careful. Too many people had already made the mistake of thinking otherwise.

His task done, the Auror stumbled back against the dingy wall, well out of even that thing's lunging reach, and sank to the ground. For a moment it was all he could do not to scream as the adrenaline that had kept him going began to wear off, leaving his various injuries free to ignite his nerves. He had been put under the Cruciatus once, though not for very long; that had been worse than this, but not by much, particularly his foot. A glance under the hem of his battle robes left him wishing he were still ignorant. He'd been walking on that? _Running_, even?

He was exhausted, and the pain was making it hard to think. There was something he was supposed to do now, wasn't there? Something more?

He needed… needed to think. He carried something that would help with that, didn't he? It was part of the standard Auror field kit. He dug through the compartmentalized pocket on the inside of his robes, hissing as he cut a finger on broken glass. At least one of the vials had shattered… Why didn't they put Unbreakable charms on the vials, he wondered, even as he withdrew the correct, thankfully whole vial, set it to his lips, and swallowed the potion within.

The pain didn't go away, but as the potion took effect he started to think through it, strangely unreal thoughts that were nonetheless clear. He needed to report in, that was it, and arrange for pick-up. Again the Auror rummaged through his robes, this time pulling out a small hand mirror. He breathed on its surface until it fogged over, trying not to think about its pink backing with its painted roses. It might have been a good idea when Trainee Black had suggested it, but the Auror was sure it had been the brat who arranged for him to have the most embarrassing mirror of the lot.

"Auror Moody reporting," he growled out. The growl neatly covered the tremor in his voice. "Target Beta is down and contained. Get the Unspeakables here, fast. They've got to get that damned thing extracted before it decides to wake up and run off again."

_"Acknowledged, Auror Moody. A team is on the way. Do you or your team require medical attention?"_

"Yeah… yeah, I think I do," Moody replied. The potion must have been defective, because his thoughts were already wandering again. That, or it wasn't mean to go up against that level of pain. Yeah, he needed medical attention all right. But his team… his team…

He turned his face towards his captive; a muggle streetlamp cast a wedge of light into the alley that fell scarcely short of their cozy little scene, and he could just make out the halo of crimson hair that tumbled across the concrete like a pool of blood. "You better still be in there when they pull it out, Potter," he muttered. "Your husband'll kill me if you aren't. If he's still there, too…"

It seemed no time at all before there was a series of _pops_ like a string of firecrackers going off. He could hear raised voices and running footsteps; most went towards his captive, but one set came to a stop in front of him. "You've really done it to yourself this time, haven't you?" the mediwitch said, catching him by the chin and shining the light on the tip of her wand into his eyes. Moody flinched away and she _tsk_ed. "Mild concussion. Any other injuries?"

"Leg," he grunted, still trying to look away from the light.

"All right, then." Thankfully she doused the light in favor of lifting his robes away from his leg. Her gasp of shock did nothing to improve his disposition as she quickly cast a stasis charm over his foot and lower leg. "That's probably going to have to come off…" she murmured, perhaps to herself. Moody's attention had drifted over to the team of Unspeakables levitating the woman's chain-wrapped body, with one standing off to the side enchanting a Portkey.

"The team that went after Trainee Potter," Moody said, still watching them. "Did they get him?"

The mediwitch flinched, still running scans over what was left of his foot. "Yes, they did. But there were… there were casualties." She paused and then frowned at him. "Auror Moody… where's the rest of your team?"

"…Dead," Moody replied after a long minute, as he watched the Unspeakables vanish away, taking Lily Potter and the snake-like creature possessing her with them. "All dead…"

-

­_Nine months later._

-

The mediwitch mopped her forehead with a damp towel, and then rinsed it and did the same for the panting woman on the bed. Damn her eyes if it hadn't been hard going, one of the toughest births she'd ever presided over. At least Mrs. Potter and her little boy were all right, even if both were exhausted, the babe too tired to even cry.

Her assistant flicked her wand at the baby in her other arm, and the umbilical cord tied itself in a knot. "There's a love," she crooned to the babe when he didn't cry at the follow-up, low-power severing charm. "Now for the weighing… Look at that, isn't he gorgeous? I could swear he's already tryin' to look at me."

Mrs. Potter stirred out of her daze. "My baby…" she murmured, and the mediwitch was quick to replace the cooling towel on her forehead. "My baby," the woman said again, more strongly, opening those brilliantly green eyes of hers.

"Just a moment, dear," the mediwitch replied, straightening the woman's bedclothes as her assistant beckoned over the enchanted measuring tape.

"Five and a half pounds, eighteen and a third inches," the girl reported a moment later, moving back to the bed. "Here you go, Mrs. Potter."

The mediwitch smiled as the babe was handed over. "Now go fetch Mr. Potter, girl. He'll need to be present for the naming."

The girl nodded and dashed off; she was a good girl, really, but just out of Hogwarts and still a tad excitable. She'd steady down as she got older and got some more experience beneath her belt. Mind you, the mediwitch conceded as James Potter rushed into the room and nearly tripped over the supply cart, some people just never grew up, out of Hogwarts or not. Sighing, she reached for the quill and birth certificate, not noticing Mrs. Potter's sudden tension as she held her child. "What'll you be naming the wee one, now?"

Lily stared down into the luminous green eyes, so much like hers, in the scrunched-up little red face. She could feel it, an itch beneath her skin. Naquadah… she could feel naquadah within her child. Oh Merlin, but that meant… "Harcesis," she whispered, jerking her head up to stare at her husband. James looked just as horrified as she felt, his hand stilled in midair from where it had been reaching for them both. The child forbidden by the gods, feared by the gods…

But how could it be? Nephthys was gone, had been gone for months. They had taken her away…

"Harcesis," the mediwitch repeated, jotting it down on the certificate. "Well, that's one I've never heard before, but it's quite lovely."

The dismayed looks the Potters sent her would have been comical under any other circumstances. Things were hardly going to plan- following Potter tradition, the heir to the family was supposed to bear the name of a male relative; they'd chosen James's grandfather's name, a man he had never met, but whose exploits in Asia and the West Indies had greatly increased the Potter fortune. But the birth certificate couldn't be altered. That was something that purebloods had insisted on for years, as it was proof of their births and bloodlines, and she could see that the thought hadn't even crossed James's mind.

"Any middle names, sir, madam?" the mediwitch asked, glancing at the strangely quiet babe in the mother's arms and smiling. Lily envied her for her lack of knowledge- all she saw was a sweet child, not a being who could very well grow up to be a monster.

"James only," Lily replied rather faintly, feeling sick to her stomach.

James moved to her side and perched on the edge of the bed. The arm he put around her shoulders made her feel a little better, but not nearly so much as she'd have preferred. "He… he doesn't look… like I'd have thought he would," he said murmured into her ear, looking down at his newborn son.

_Like a monster_, he didn't say, but she heard it loud and clear all the same. "No, he doesn't," she agreed. He looked just like a normal little baby, all wrinkled and red and so very small…

But there was still the itch of naquadah beneath her skin, and she dreaded.

"Hey! Out of the way there, godfather coming through!" they heard a voice call out, and looked up just in time to see Sirius push his way into the room. A grin split his face as soon as he saw the tiny bundle in Lily's arms. "Well? Aren't you going to let little whatsisname meet his godfather?"

When no one immediately moved, the hyperactive Auror leaned over the mediwitch's shoulder to see the birth certificate. "Harcesis? Circe, James, what did you go and name him a mouthful like that for? As bad as the names my folks pick out, really. I expected better from you."

"It's… a very old name," James managed to say, looking as though he'd rather have been almost anywhere else in the world, than in that room at that moment.

Sirius snorted. "And since when have you cared about tradition?" James and Lily traded a wary glance, uncertain of what to say, and before they'd realized it Sirius had plucked the baby away from his mother and was peering at him closely. "Doesn't look much like a Harcesis… I think I'll call him Harry."

"Harry…" James repeated quietly, watching his best friend cuddle his godson. He was probably supposed to be rescuing one of them, but the Gods help him to know just which one was in more danger. "Yeah, Harry sounds like a good name. Strong. He probably doesn't ever even need to know about his real name, does he, honey?"

Lily nodded, holding out her arms for her son again. Sirius reluctantly gave up the newly-named Harry, and she studied the Harcesis closely. Maybe… maybe it was possible, to raise him to be… normal. As normal as any wizard could be. She was well on her way to a Charms mastery, after all. Surely she could find something, some spell, that would suppress the knowledge of the gods that had been born inside of him?

Ignoring Sirius's puzzled look as he finally noticed their lack of celebration, she glanced up at her husband. "We're going to have to be so careful with him."

He nodded in agreement, and the tight knot of worry that had tied itself in her gut began to loosen. They were in this together, and together, there was nothing she believed they couldn't accomplish. They would do just fine in raising their son, their Harry.

Even if he was the Bane of the Gods.

-

It was only a few weeks later that Albus Dumbledore requested to meet with the Potters, regarding their newborn son. They went to the meeting half-panicked, sure that the powerful wizard had discovered their circumstances, something only the Unspeakables were supposed to know of. But present at the meeting also were Alice and Frank Longbottom, and their own son, Neville; and Dumbledore said not a word about ancient Egyptian gods, or forbidden knowledge.

Instead, he spoke to them of a prophecy about a child born at the end of July, possessing an unknown power. Both Harry and Neville had been born in the correct time frame, and Dumbledore wanted them to go into hiding until the children were older. Lily and James were quick to agree. It would give them more time to find a way to control the knowledge in Harry, and to be blunt, how could the prophecy be about anyone but their little Harcesis?

A little more than a year of hiding later, Lily had had a certain measure of success combining a weak Bemusement Charm with a specially-created ink that had its beginnings in a permanent coloring potion. She'd enlisted James's help in shaving little Harry's hair from the nape of his neck, and then Charmed the ink into a relatively simple mandala designed around balance and longevity. The ink would hold the spell well enough, though it would eventually need to be renewed, probably in a couple of decades or so. If Lily hadn't found a better way to suppress Harry's heritage by then, she'd eat her husband's broomstick. And once the child's hair grew back, no one would ever even notice the mandala was there.

With that thought in mind, she added a second charm to the mandala to encourage hair growth. It would shorten the lifespan of the suppressant by a few years, but she considered that an acceptable price for discretion.

It wasn't an idyllic life by any means. They weren't trapped in their home, exactly, but they kept the times they left it to the minimum they could. It simply wasn't worth it; the thought of Harry growing up with the corrupt knowledge of the gods was enough to keep them up at night, but the thought of Voldemort gaining Harry and that same knowledge caused screaming night terrors. Their friends came to visit on occasion, Sirius most often of all so that he could visit his godson. He never seemed to notice anything odd about Harry, except to comment on how oddly calm a kid he was. It always took Lily hours to get the house back to normal after his visits and pranks. No, it wasn't a perfect life at all.

But nevertheless she mourned for it on All Hallow's Eve, when she heard the door crash open and the shouting begin downstairs. She yearned for it, for all the rest of her short life.

-

Growing up, Harry knew he was not like other boys. The differences were subtle, for the most part, excepting the odd things that happened around him on occasion. One could hardly call appearing on the roof of the school, when you had previously been on the ground, normal by any stretch of the imagination. Neither was spontaneous hair growth normal, though Harry was grateful for not having to deal with the completely horrible haircut his aunt had given him.

Sometimes he knew the things they taught in school, before ever going to the class. Mostly mathematics and science, though he sometimes got in trouble with the teacher because what he _knew_ and what she said weren't always the same. And sometimes there were days when Harry was just so angry, at the world, at the people around him, that he just wanted them to _hurt_. On those days he'd hit Dudley back, and say hurtful things, like telling his aunt Petunia what he'd overheard about what the ladies next door really thought about her. On those days Uncle Vernon would throw Harry into the cupboard that was his bedroom, where Harry would have nightmares that night and then wake up the next morning as the sweet, if somewhat apathetic boy he normally was. Those days... a part of Harry hated and feared those days. And another part of him longed for them, soul-deep.

Harry wished he knew what was wrong with him, or if it was everyone else that was somehow not right. He had no friends to tell him which it was, even though he very rarely ever acted out at school. More than once he'd heard his teachers whisper the word "maladjusted" to each other, and then peer at him with pitying eyes. He hated those looks. His bad days often happened soon after he'd caught someone looking at him like that, perhaps because he'd almost rather people were mad at him or afraid of him, than pitying him. How dare they pity him? They were nothing! They were the insignificant supporting roles in the story of a life that didn't matter, that had no purpose! Harry drifted through his days, watching everyone around him scurry around like the world depended on them, and depending on what kind of day it was he wept for them, raged over them, or just waited for something, anything to change.

Finally, a week before Harry's eleventh birthday, something did.

The letter came.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Do NOT get on my case about posting another story. At this point, that would probably set me off and turn me off posting fanfiction completely. My nerves are... iffy right now. My aunt moved in a few months ago; that was fine with me. She's cool. Then, a couple months ago, her three children moved in as well. The oldest is eleven and the youngest is four. I'm fine with the oldest. She's cool too. But the other two... *strangles* On top of that I'm taking 17 credits this semester, working, and have had my laptop crap out on me twice. It's on that table right over there now, waiting to go visit HP again. I'll say it again, don't get on me about posting a new story. Just be happy for me that I'm posting.

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28 January 2009


	2. Foreshadowing

**Warnings and Disclaimers:** I hereby dedicate this chapter to OptimisticChic! Oh, and watch out for the mythology lecture in the last bit.

* * *

**Great Britain, 1991 A.D.**

Harry could never have made friends with Draco Malfoy. Because of his obvious riches, and the equally obvious way he had been raised to them, the blond boy had an air, almost a fugue about him of arrogance and better-than-thou. It exuded from his pores and the brash tilt to his chin, from the silky clothes he wore, and from the sneer he gave the Madam who ran the clothing shop.

No, Harry could never be friends, if that was the correct term, with someone who dared to think they were above him. He'd had enough of that from the Dursleys, who expressed it rather poorly in comparison but thought so nonetheless; Harry knew deep in his heart of hearts that he was better than they were, and he rather thought he was better than this little ponce as well. Even in his overlarge hand-me-downs and broken glasses. It was just a feeling, really, but it was one he couldn't ignore.

Not to say that Harry would spurn the boy, and make an enemy of him. If that arrogance were to vanish, Draco Malfoy would have made a perfectly suitable, even desirable friend. Money talked, after all, and in the hands of friends and allies it spoke well of you indeed. Until then, though, Harry would keep his distance.

-

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger didn't think they were above him.

Ron was all too aware of Harry's scar, and the understated (or even unstated) wealth of his friend, but seemed grateful not to have that wealth thrown in his face. Harry wished he could have bought some new clothing for himself besides robes, but now he was glad that he'd still been wearing the hand-me-downs on the train to Hogwarts. Ron might have resented him otherwise, and with three of the boy's older brothers still attending the school, that could have made things unpleasant for Harry.

Hermione was a Muggleborn in a school full of witches and wizards. Intellectually, she had accepted that she was a witch, and her work in classes, all of her classes, was without parallel. But even to the most open mind, it takes time to accept such a radical change, and most of the students around her had grown up knowing exactly what they were and what it meant to the world. Deep within, she still felt out of place, and so she strove to both excel and to fit in, which were in practice mutually exclusive concepts. Harry knew what a shock finding out about magic was, and sympathized, but he had always known that he was strange. Continuing to not fit the norm was no hardship for him. And, while Hermione could act superior at times when she nagged him to do his work, he knew that she didn't truly believe herself to be superior, and so she was his friend.

The humble pureblood, the brilliant Muggleborn, and the Boy-Who-Lived. Together, they formed a trio that, in the near future, he could see ruling Gryffindor House. If they wanted to, that was. Harry didn't have any plans or desires in that direction, but the option and the power was there if he ever decided that he did. And after living powerless with the Dursleys, that option was a security blanket that kept him calm and far more pleasant than he had ever been in Little Whinging.

It was especially nice because Gryffindor House was, in many ways, the leading house at Hogwarts. Slytherin had the ambition, Ravenclaw had the smarts, and Hufflepuff had the dedication, but Gryffindor had the flash. Gryffindor was where the Wizarding World first looked for its heroes and its leaders. Harry was glad he'd been able to _convince_ the Sorting Hat to place him there, instead of in Slytherin, though he thought the Hat might be mad at him for it. He would have inevitably come into conflict with the most influential purebloods in the school, simply on the basis of his halfblooded status. As a Gryffindor, of course, he was still in conflict with some of those purebloods, but at least now it wasn't personal.

Later on, he rather thought that might be important.

-

Harry didn't hate Professor Snape. Not the way that his fellow students thought, anyway. The verbal abuse didn't bother someone used to the Dursleys, and the points taken were annoying, but not important in themselves. Harry hated the professor's ignorance. It was obvious that Snape respected power. Harry knew he had power, or would, and he hated that the professor didn't see it, didn't acknowledge even the possibility that it was there.

He didn't want the professor to like him, but someday, whether Snape wanted to or not, he would respect Harry. Harry just wondered if, and how much, he would have to make the professor hurt before that would happen.

-

It hurt. Oh, but it hurt. It felt like someone had taken a saw, perhaps a rusty one, and was slowly cutting his head vertically in two, following a path right between his eyes. Harry wasn't sure how he wasn't screaming- maybe it was the teeth-baring rictus of pain that kept his jaw locked and any sound behind those teeth.

The pain was worth it, though, because Professor Quirrell was doing enough screaming for the both of them. His skin bubbled around the fingers Harry had wrapped around his face, and the boy thought he could feel bone through the burns on Quirrell's hands, which had seized his wrists to try and pry them away. The face on the back of the professor's head was screaming now, too, though that might have been in anger.

It was a detached part of Harry's mind that was noticing these things. The same part of his mind that had noticed the Philosopher's Stone lying on the stone step behind him, temporarily forgotten. That noticed cracks spider-webbing their way across the Mirror of Erised on the other side of the room. That noticed a new emotion bubbling its way up from deep inside his chest.

After nearly a year of classes, Professor Quirrell taught Harry Potter his most important lesson that night. Quirrell had declared himself Harry's enemy, through no provocation on the boy's part. Now Harry was killing him, or at least seriously maiming him, and he could feel no guilt about that. Indeed, the grimace on his face was formed as much from another feeling, as it was from pain. Had Ron or Hermione, or Professor Dumbledore, been there to see it, they would never have looked at him the same way again.

Quirrell taught Harry to exult in the destruction of his enemies. It was a lesson that Harry never forgot.

* * *

**Colorado Springs, U.S.A, February 2000 A.D.**

Daniel was drunk.

Well, maybe not drunk, Jack conceded as he watched the archaeologist stare into the fire, but he was definitely past tipsy. Which was both good and bad. Good, in that Jack had gotten him to drink enough to get to that point. Bad, in that he'd really been hoping to get Daniel shit-faced drunk so that Daniel would have a nice little meltdown in a nice safe place, instead of exploding messily at some later date. Jack was tired of watching his friend draw deeper and deeper into himself, refusing to let anyone see how much he had to be hurting.

For God's sake, Daniel had had to give up his _son_. And, as far as Jack could tell, he hadn't spoken to a single person about it in the week since. He wasn't sure if he was the one that Daniel ought to be talking to- God knew their friendship still hadn't really recovered from that damned undercover op with the NID- but Jack didn't think there was anyone else. He had to try.

"Something in there interesting, Daniel?" he asked abruptly, shattering the silence that had built.

He expected the other man to jump, but apparently Daniel was lubricated enough that a few seconds passed before he blinked and seemed to notice that Jack had said anything. "Not particularly, Jack," he murmured, still not taking his eyes from the flames. "Just pondering the differences between accepted mythology and reality. Or maybe the historical distortion of myths and legends."

That pulled Jack up short as neatly as a leash would have. He didn't much care for the touchy-feely stuff, but he'd have been willing to grin and bear it for his best friend's sake. An anthropological lecture was an entirely different matter. He heard plenty of those during working hours. But at least Danny was finally talking…

"What do you mean?" And no, asking that was nothing like pulling teeth.

Daniel's brow was furrowed, and he was rolling the slowly-warming beer bottle between his palms. And he still hadn't looked at Jack. Instead his eyes skittered over the room. "I spent years studying the Egyptian myths, Jack. Hell, I even grew up listening to them. I know all the versions, all the variations that each has, and then we started going through the Stargate and I got to see them in action. Some of them were the same, and that's helped us. But some of them were so very different that I can't understand how history got it so wrong." He gestured absently. "Even with five or six thousand years between then and now."

Well, discussing the Goa'uld was definitely a step in the right direction… "A cover-up, maybe?" the colonel suggested, leaning back into the couch. "We've already seen how much the snakes'll lie to save face."

Daniel nodded, finally turning and moving over to the other end of the couch. "I could see that in a lot of cases, but most of them seem to be pretty proud of their lineage. Why would one want to change that?"

"You're thinking of a specific one, then." Jack reached over and grabbed Daniel's warm beer, receiving no protest, and headed off to the kitchen. "Which one is it?" he called over his shoulder, fetching two fresh beers from the fridge and popping their caps on the edge of the counter. One of Daniel's lectures had to be easier to listen to when you weren't sober, right?

"Heru-ur is the offspring of Ra and Hathor, according to Teal'c. Which is strange, because Heru-ur is just another name for the god Horus, and while there is an argument that Horus was birthed by Hathor, most of our legends claim him as the son of Isis and Osiris." Jack had to practically shove a cold one into Daniel's chest to get him to claim it. Whatever attractions lay in getting plastered for the man had been easily overcome by an archaeological puzzle. "And occasionally married to Hathor, come to that."

Jack shrugged, settling down again. "Guess that would kind of prevent the whole 'son of Hathor' thing, wouldn't it?"

For the first time in what felt like hours, Daniel looked directly at Jack. And he looked… amused? "These are the Egyptian gods we're talking about here, Jack. It wouldn't prevent anything of the sort."

Ugh. He really, really hadn't needed to know that. The colonel made sure his look in return said so quite clearly, and Daniel had the gall to smirk at him from behind his beer.

Well, if the geek was going to play it like that, Jack was going to not listen. He slipped into the daze he usually spent briefings in, one that let him pick up on only the important bits without having to actually pay attention. It could have been an hour later that he came out of it with the realization that Daniel had finally stopped talking, and was now staring into the fire again from his seat on the couch. And frowning.

…Nah, twenty minutes at most, Jack corrected, checking the level of the beer in his hand. He was a pretty steady drinker.

"What's got you so quiet?" he asked, taking another swig.

Daniel shrugged a shoulder. "Just… you know me. Just another one of my whacky ideas with little to no basis in reality."

Jack snorted. "What, like the pyramids being built by aliens? Some wild, whacky theory that one turned out to be." Daniel shot him something that came very close to a real smile, and emboldened by his success, Jack sat up. "So, hit me. What's this one about?"

"Well, it's…" Daniel took a moment to gather his thoughts. "The Heru-ur we know doesn't fit with what we would seem to know about Horus. But, in Ancient Egypt, what we refer to as Horus today was actually a multitude of gods that eventually merged into Horus. That happens with a lot of pantheons, actually, as time goes by- the Romans adopted several of the Greek gods and renamed them, and so on. But even with the so-called 'modern' Horus, historians will often divide him into two aspects, referred to as 'Horus the Younger' and 'Horus the Elder'."

_Another potential snake. Wonderful._ "If there's two, which one is the Goa'uld we've met, then?"

Daniel abandoned his beer on the coffee table as he rose, this time to pace as he gestured. "Well, 'Heru-ur' most directly translates to 'Horus the Great', which is almost without fail associated with Horus the Elder. The Elder is more often the Sun God, though not to be confused with Ra, and is a god of war and victory as well."

Jack nodded. "That sounds like the kind of god a Goa'uld would claim to be."

"Yes, it's fairly typical of their propaganda, isn't it? And given how different the mythos is around Horus the Younger, I'm not sure that one was a Goa'uld at all. Tok'ra, maybe. I'll have to ask General Carter the next time we see him. Or maybe Teal'c will know…" Daniel paused again in front of the fireplace, frowning at the wall.

Jack couldn't help but to look skeptical. "What, he was… nice?" Even if they were the "good guys" in comparison to the Goa'uld, the Tok'ra were still pretty obnoxious bastards.

Daniel apparently didn't notice his disbelief, as he nodded his head, turning back to Jack. "Well, yes. Horus the Younger, or the Child. Heru-p-khart, falcon-the-child or the child-on-high. Or sometimes he was Neferhor, the 'Good Horus'. He was represented as a youth with dark hair, usually wearing the two crowns of Egypt. He was the dawn, the rising sun, and today is considered the original form of Horus." The archaeologist grinned at Jack. "One of his specific incarnations was as the god Shed, which was recorded during the Amarna period. Have I ever mentioned the Amarna period to you, Jack? It has to be the strangest period of Egyptian history. I mean, between Akenaten essentially rewriting the official religion of Egypt, and the abrupt change in art styles until they were hardly related to the previous ones-"

"Ah! Daniel, you're getting off-topic," Jack warned. From the grin still lingering on his friend's face, the beers were finally kicking all the way in. "Sit. Stay. You were talking about the guy named after the place you stick your gardening tools."

For once Daniel did as ordered, though he scowled at Jack as he did. "Don't say that, Jack. You'd like Shed. His name meant 'illuminated', and he was a savior god. He embodied the very concept of salvation. Art usually shows him slaying lions, crocodiles and _snakes_."

Jack necked back the last of his beer, and after a moment, decided against getting another one. From the look of things, the guy was just getting to the point of alcohol-induced sleepiness, and he'd much rather Daniel was able to make it to the guest room under his own power. Heh. Lightweight. "Okay, so maybe the kid's not so bad. I can't say I care too much for the older one, though."

Daniel nodded. "Me either." He frowned down at his hands. "I'd much rather he be the Younger."

It wasn't obvious, but there was a definite feeling to the air that the conversation had jumped tracks, ever so slightly. "What do you mean?" Jack asked. _He who?_

Minutes passed before there was a reply. Jack had been about ready to concede victory and usher them both off to bed, and almost jumped when Daniel finally spoke. "Horus had another name, you know. Harcesis."

Jack stared at him, at last understanding what had prompted the entire conversation to begin with. "…Yeah. I hope he turns out to be the Younger, too."

Neither said another word as Jack helped his friend to bed.

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**A/N:** First, as stated at the top, this chapter is dedicated to OptimisticChic, whose review managed to inspire the HP muse into knocking out the first part of this chapter in the course of about two hours. Then, of course, Jack and Daniel decided to balk at the gate.

I've taken some serious liberties with Egyptian mythology, here. Most of the basic facts are correct, and even some of the relationships. I played connect-the-dots in ways that they don't really go, however. Oh, and the Amarna period truly is strange. Take a look at the artwork from it, and ask yourself what it reminds you of. Which may or may not be a spoiler, we'll see. Either way, though, the second part of this chapter is intended as a very important lead-in to Harry's future. I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts on it, dear readers.

**Not-a-story-note-but-important:** Something is up with my review/pm reply system. Most of the time I get error messages when I try to reply to folks. So to those who have sent pms, yes, I got them but was unable to reply. I've only had one pm come back to me confirming a successful reply, in fact.

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28 October 2009


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